The Long Way Down
by Menthol Pixie
Summary: Sam falls off a cliff and that might not be the worst part.


**The Long Way Down**

Summary: Sam falls off a cliff and that might not be the worst part.

XXX

The pain is unbelievable.

He doesn't know how far he falls but Sam feels his legs crumple beneath him like one of the beer cans Dad flattens under his boot, feels his tailbone hit a split second later, feels the shock of it run up his spine, the sudden impact jarring his teeth and shooting pins and needles through his body. The world flares red all around him and for an eternity he can't breathe, the agony overwhelming, sudden fear clenching in his chest as the thought of paralysis creeps in, of having useless, broken limbs for the rest of his life. Being broken and useless for the rest of his life.

He lies motionless, sprawled on his stomach, for a long time, eyes squeezed shut, frantically willing his lungs to expand and allow him some air. It seems like he's been breathless for far too long to survive, until he realizes that the strange rattling noise he can hear is coming from him. He drags in a laborious gasp and releases it with a name. "_Dean._"

There's no way Dean could have heard his feeble attempt at a yell but thinking of his brother helps dull the rest of his fear. Dean wouldn't just lie here and panic. Dean would stay calm and assess the damage, form a plan, and if that's what Dean would do, then Sam can do it too.

He allows himself another moment to simply breathe, to let his lungs remember what they're supposed to be doing and slow his heartbeat so the thumping pain isn't quite so constant.

Okay, assess. The creature threw him off a cliff. His right leg feels shattered and now that he's concentrating he's pretty sure he can feel warm blood spreading around his ankle, soaking into his sock. Compound fracture, most likely. His left leg feels stiff and swollen, not as bad as the right, but when he tries to shift it, searing agony shoots up to his hip and merges with the pain radiating from his tailbone. When he groans, he's not sure if it's because of the injuries or because of the endless teasing he's sure to get from his brother when Dean finds out he's broken his ass.

He's not paralyzed though. If he was, he surely wouldn't be hurting this much. He has to give himself another moment to let that relief sink in, resting his forehead on one of his outstretched arms. Moving is definitely out of the question however and there's no way he's getting back up the cliff to help Dean and Dad. He'll just have to hope that they kill the monster quickly.

Opening his eyes, he shifts his head to the side and peers up, trying to make out either his brother's or his father's form at the top of the cliff, but it's too dark to see anything that high up. He listens instead and can just make out the sounds of battle, faint grunts and scuffling, a roar from the beast. As he watches, clumps of disturbed snow tumble from the cliff and thud to the ground around him.

Sam closes his eyes again, listening to the noises that mean his family is still alive, still fighting. For a brief moment, dread fills him as his traitorous mind conjures up a scenario in which Dad and Dean are killed and no one comes to help him. Just as fast, the fear dissipates. It's not as if he'd want to live without them anyway and he doesn't think it would take long before he joined them, especially if it starts to snow again.

As if to prove his morbid theory, a hard shiver runs up his spine, followed by a flood of white-hot pain. Tears force their way through his eyelids and turn icy in the frigid air, stinging his cheeks. He swipes a hand over his face but snow is clinging to his glove and it only makes him colder. It hurts so damn much. _Come on, Dean_...

A sudden shuffling sound has his eyes flying open, instantly on alert. It was much too close to be Dean or the creature, maybe just ten feet away. He stares into the darkness in front of him, where he thinks the noise came from.

A pair of ghostly white eyes stare back.

Fresh terror lodges in Sam's throat. The monster didn't throw him down here by chance, he realizes. It picked this spot for a reason.

Dinner.

"Dean!" he yells, hears his voice echo off the snow-covered sides of the ravine, weak and frightened. The eyes move forward a few steps, drawn by his voice.

Dean won't get here in time.

Where's his flare gun? He was holding it when he fell, remembers clenching his fingers around it when he became airborne because Dad always says not to lose your weapon, no matter what. He's not holding it now but maybe it's close by. _Please let it be close by_...

He spots it a couple of feet in front of him, only just able to make it out in the dark. Maybe the impact knocked it from his grasp. Whatever happened, it's too far away for him to reach. He has to move, has to reach it before the monster reaches him. But he doesn't know if he can.

Moonlight spills into the ravine as clouds move across the sky, glinting off of the monsters white fur. It looks almost like a baby polar bear but it's grossly extended snout and wickedly sharp teeth and claws betray it's heritage. This one is very young, despite being almost as tall as Sam, and that's the only reason he hasn't been torn to shreds already.

He needs the flare gun. Now.

He braces his arms on the ground and drags himself forward an inch or two. Even this slight movement insights a wave of pain that almost has him blacking out as it crashes over him. His legs feel like they're on fire, burning from the inside out. Sam chokes back a sob, afraid that any sound will bring the creature closer. When he glances up, the thing is regarding him with interest. Maybe it's deciding which part of him it should chow down on first. For a moment, Sam looks into it's unnatural eyes as it gazes back, saliva dripping from it's jaw, and wonders if this is going to be the last thing he ever sees.

A small tumble of snow reminds him that his family is still up there, fighting a beast three times this size. All Sam has to do is get to the flare gun, then he can see Dean and Dad again. He's a Winchester, damn it, he can't let a baby monster take him out, definitely not when he's so close to salvation.

He braces himself again, focusing on the flare gun, and takes a deep breath. Holding it, he painstakingly pulls himself forward, gloves slipping on the icy snow. His vision swims, darkening at the edges as the pain threatens to drag him under, but he pushes it back. No matter how much it hurts now, it would hurt a lot more if he let the creature tear him apart.

He's almost close enough to reach the gun, could maybe touch it with a fingertip if he stretched, when the monster lets out a squeaky roar and drops to a crouch, ready to spring. Adrenaline floods through Sam's system. There's not enough time to move gingerly. Instead he throws himself forward, ignoring the swell of agony that surges it's way up from his feet to his chest. Vomit rises in his throat as his fingers close around the gun.

He barely pauses to aim but the thing is so close he can't miss. The flare catches it in the chest, mid-leap, and it drops, shrieking. Sam feels the heat of the flames as it goes up and has to throw his arms over his head to protect himself from the spit of sparks as it sizzles into nothingness mere feet away.

He stays like that for much longer than he has to, eyes closed, as the adrenaline ebbs away, trying to be as still as possible. He's shivering too hard to be successful. Some of the snow has been melted by the flames and the icy water seeps slowly through his jacket. He's freezing cold, his face stinging sharply, except for his legs and tailbone, which burn hot and fierce. He thinks vaguely of rolling over in hope that the snow will dull the agony but he can't bring himself to move. Putting pressure on his broken bones would probably be a bad idea anyway.

He's starting to feel like he's in shock now, nausea crawling around in his stomach. Wisps of smoke burn in his nose and throat, making his eyes water, and he's suddenly so tired he thinks he could fall asleep despite the cold and the pain and the urge of vomit.

He can't sleep though. His thoughts are turning watery and thin but he knows that he shouldn't sleep, can't let himself slip away.

"Dean," he calls weakly, just because he wants his brother, not because he expects Dean to hear him. So he's surprised when Dean calls back to him, much closer that Sam thought he would be.

"Almost at you, kiddo, just hang on a sec."

The monster up the top must be dead if Dean's on his way. Sam's pretty sure he should have heard his descent. Maybe he was further on his way to passing out than he thought.

"Not like I can go anywhere," he replies, gritting his teeth as he turns ever so slightly to see Dean reach the ground, giving the rope that's knotted around his waist a couple of tugs before quickly untying it. Must be signaling Dad.

"Was that a baby you lit up down here?" Dean asks, his tone strained with worry as he undoes the last knot.

"Mmhm," Sam confirms.

"Any more?" Dean pauses to look around, pointing his flashlight into the darkness, one hand on his flare gun.

"Don't think so."

"Good." All restraint is gone now that Dean's assessed the threat level. He crosses the small space between them quickly to crouch down at Sam's side. "What's the damage, Sammy? That was a hell of a long way you fell."

The reminder invokes a fresh wave of pain. Sam groans. "Think I broke half my body."

Dean sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Your back?" he asks, voice low and tight with a fear that Sam's familiar with. The beam of the flashlight moves down.

"No," Sam says quickly. "Legs and tailbone. Not paralyzed but there's no way I can climb back up."

Dean nods distractedly as he moves the flashlight around, checking out the injuries. The look on Dean's face makes Sam glad he can't see them. "Dad's already called for help. You just have to hang on 'til it gets here."

Of course, Sam already knew there was a long wait ahead of him but Dean's words fill him with despair anyway. "It really hurts," he hears himself whimper. He'd probably be embarrassed if he weren't in so much pain. He's seen Dad and Dean grit their teeth through broken bones and carry on stoically but he just can't do that, can't act tough like them.

"I know, kiddo," Dean says, his face twisted like Sam's injuries are causing him pain too. "But help's coming." He's shrugging off one of his jackets now, folding it up. "Think we can get this under your head so you're not lying in ice water?"

Moving seems impossible but he knows Dean wouldn't ask if it wasn't important. Not that Dean's really asking. Anyway, if he can get out of the thin layer of melted snow, he might stop shivering so much and the pain might ease a little.

"'kay," he murmurs apprehensively, bracing himself for the onslaught of agony.

Thankfully, Dean is fast and efficient so even though the slightest jostle has Sam gasping and moaning through clenched teeth, it doesn't take long before the jacket is spread over the ground. It's still warm with body heat and Sam rest his head on it gratefully, breathing slow and deliberate until the pain settles down a bit. He's not at all surprised when Dean lies down beside him, a careful arm curling protectively over his back.

"It's gonna be okay, Sammy."

_I know_, Sam thinks. _You're here._

**END **


End file.
